


I don't dare let darkness have its way with me

by bookoftheazuresky



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Bad Decisions, Dreamwalking, M/M, Regret, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 17:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19750159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookoftheazuresky/pseuds/bookoftheazuresky
Summary: “Don’t you know that there are better things to do at night than brood?” Belial asked, feet indenting the lush, overgrown grass dotted with evening primrose.“I thought you liked it when someone was thinking of you,” Lucifer replied to his surprise, voice low enough that without a primal’s ears Belial might not have heard him.(The last conversation that Belial and Lucifer had was quite a bit later than the end of the rebellion.)





	I don't dare let darkness have its way with me

**Author's Note:**

> If you're thinking I've been writing a lot of Belial lately, you're right! I've been trying to get a feel for his internal landscape given that it's hard to trust anything he says or does. I think that, no matter if it was positive or negative, Lucifer and Belial's relationship frames a lot of their characters. This interpretation is coming from a place supposing that there was a period when they did genuinely have feelings for one another.
> 
> Set right after the end of the Astral War.
> 
> Title is from Hope of Morning by Icon for Hire.

Belial stretched out on the window seat with a sigh, folding his arms behind his head.

It looked like it was going to hold after all, this victory of mortals over their Astral rulers. About more than a millennium later than the fallen had planned, but better late than never, right?

Belial smiled crookedly up at the moonless sky. Even the stars seemed less bright, like the retreat of their children had drained some essential sparkle from them. Not that Belial, a primal of darkness, minded. It was the beginning of a new era of the skies- which also meant the end of an old one. The age of the stars, the aegis under which Belial himself had been born under, was over.

And the Astrals’ wayward children, the primal beasts, were now left to pick themselves up from the wreckage. How typical.

Well, Belial couldn’t exactly point fingers, given that he’d been one of those creating the wreckage. It really had been a call back to his past, to playing agent provocateur for the rebellion. A bit different, of course, given that he’d been playing the part of a mortal spy and saboteur- several of them, over the course of decades- but still nostalgic.

Well, no matter how nostalgic, he wasn’t going to stick around much longer. A new era, a new phase of his game to plot. In some ways this would be easier- fewer primals and Astrals at large meant fewer pieces to be truly concerned about. On the other hand, he was still a wanted man (in the less than fun way), and fewer pieces on the board meant less camouflage.

Yes, it was time to leave, while things were still chaotic enough that his most recent set of comrades would write him off. No one would be surprised- plenty of people were headed back to their home islands, their families, the lives they had left to fight under the flag of self-determination. As a fallen angel, Belial had none of that any longer, but he’d spent the last 1500 years taking advantage of available cover. It had become second nature at this point, his imitation of mortality.

Speaking of his kind…

Belial closed his eyes and weighed the fabric of the elements, the background hum of the magic of the skies. If he’d had to pick a word…subdued. Even right now, with all of the primarchs incarnated, it resonated with uneasiness, uncertainty, that same feeling of finality that had him staring up at the stars. Lucifer had closed Canaan and the Celestial Strait to the Astrals- had, in fact, refused any Astral envoy for the past few centuries- but doing that and contemplating a future without their rule now that it was going to happen were two different things.

Lucifer. Belial pulled suddenly restless hands out from behind his head and pushed the window open. The scent of night air and green woods blew into the room, the touch of the air cool on his skin. He looked up at the sky again, gauging the time from the wheel of the stars. Midnight, or a little after; he could feel how far away dawn was in his bones.

Belial looked impulsive but rarely was; his course of action usually thought out and deliberate unless the situation called for improvisation. This night, dark and liminal, on the edge between something new and old, felt like a time to take _risks_.

Yes, he thought, the perfect time for a bit of a gamble.

He called power slowly, taking time to let the anticipation build properly, all the while insinuating himself into the life of the skies that he’d cut himself off from. The elemental primarchs were tired, distracted- Belial was the furthest thing from their thoughts. He slid past their attention, seeking one person in particular, drawing on all of his knowledge to make a bit of a guess-

And caught the thread of Lucifer’s dreams.

~

Belial stepped into the defunct and utterly silent gardens of Canaan under the same night sky he’d just been watching. At this point, the once-neat green spaces were barely recognizable, a thousand years of overgrowth triumphing over spells intended to maintain and confine. There was probably a metaphor somewhere in that.

(Belial had been both surprised and not when Lucifer had barred the Astrals from Canaan. Even when they were young, there hadn’t been many that had been capable of controlling them. With these latter generations, used to obedient lesser primals and their own hedonistic pursuits…well. Belial had heard the stories of Lucifer’s flat refusal to aid to his former masters second- and third-hand, but the cold, righteous anger had come through quite clearly.)

Habit and deeply engrained skill kept his steps along one of the old paths utterly silent despite the unevenness and ground cover. Lucifer was not, as he had more-than-half expected, in the ruins of the gazebo that he’d once frequented so often. Belial left it behind, considering, then tugged on the dream’s warp and weft to move it around him.

He ended up on one of the outer tiers, where the low wall of white stone that had once encircled the place had crumbled away in places to leave a precipitous drop for anyone without wings. Like the surprisingly small figure tucked into the curve of one of the remaining pieces of wall, looking out into the dark horizon.

(Belial wished he could see Lucilius in him, but no. Lucifer had always managed to look like himself rather than their creator, despite the similarities.)

“Don’t you know that there are better things to do at night than brood?” Belial asked, feet indenting the lush, overgrown grass dotted with evening primrose.

“I thought you liked it when someone was thinking of you,” Lucifer replied to his surprise, voice low enough that without a primal’s ears Belial might not have heard him.

“Oh? I do like that, you’re right.” He achieved conversational distance without Lucifer even looking at him; stopped and knelt and reached out, tipping Lucifer’s chin to make the pale-haired angel meet his eyes. “Have you been thinking of me, Lucifer?” he purred.

Blue eyes widened abruptly, and Belial watched, with some amusement, as Lucifer realized that he was talking to the genuine article rather than a figment of his dreaming mind.

“What are you doing,” Lucifer managed, mind obviously racing behind that shocked expression.

“It’s the dark of the moon,” Belial stated, and watched the information sink in. It wasn’t really that Belial was any more powerful after dark, but he was working within his own dominion, the archetype of deception and concealment that he drew his power from. At the new moon, secrets whispered in the dark had the advantage over the light of revelation.

Lucifer could force himself to wake, of course. No matter what Belial did, Lucifer was still going to be able to assert clarity over himself. He just couldn’t track Belial down by the tie established between them. In a contest of power between them, there would always be a clear winner, but when it came down to _technique_ …well, Belial was made for subtler things.

“So it is,” Lucifer agreed, a cool mask dropping over his face. “That’s not an answer to my question.”

“Well, you didn’t answer mine. So maybe I should ask again.” He rested his thumb on Lucifer’s chin, stroking the backs of his fingers down a graceful curve of throat, and asked in the tone of voice that had gotten men and women to betray everything from good sense to sacred vows, “Have you been thinking of me, Lucifer?”

Belial had been Lucifer’s first lover- probably his only lover, given that Lucifer had no idea how to ask for what he wanted or needed when he was outside of his role. And he could read _want_ in the shaking breath that Lucifer drew in, the tension in his lean body.

“Yes,” Lucifer said. Then, more confidently, with an echo of long-burning anger in his voice, his eyes, his unfolding aura, “Yes. I’ve thought of you, Belial.”

Belial smiled in response, letting the cold edges of his own wrath show. “You’ve gotten more interesting since I last saw you,” he said, pulse picking up at the mingling of desire and fury that they were both feeling, projected through their overlapping powers. “Disobeying the Astrals, refusing to fight in their war. I could barely believe it when I heard.”

“I considered,” Lucifer told him, eyes steely, “my priorities. My loyalties. My role. And then I took the action that best suited them.”

No, they were never going to get to absolution, were they? Not when Belial’s hands were soaked with the blood of their kindred, reaped in betrayal, and Lucifer’s with the blood of their creator, killed in anger. Forgiveness between them was as far away as the beginning of the universe.

The primal who had chosen to follow Lucilius’ wish, and the primal who had chosen to follow his will. Just them and the damage they had done to each other.

“By that standard, you shouldn’t be letting me do this,” Belial observed, swaying closer and tilting Lucifer’s face further up.

“Perhaps. But you’ve made very sure that I can’t take anything from this.” Lucifer watched him with those steely eyes, level as a drawn blade, breath coming more quickly, obedient to Belial’s wordless prompting.

“You are going to let me, aren’t you.” He hadn’t been sure before, but he was now. Belial almost bridged the gap between them, leaving that one taunting little sliver of distance between their lips. He wanted Lucifer to choose this. Despite everything: morals and sense and all the pain they had caused.

“ _Yes_.”

There was no ‘let’ about it, Lucifer demanded the kiss. Belial thrilled with the victory and a spark of pure carnal need and groaned into that vicious mouth. Hands fisted in the collar of his jacket, forcing him to reposition his knees or end up in Lucifer’s lap. He braced himself on the piece of wall behind Lucifer’s back and kissed back with equal force, letting their lips bruise and teeth scrape.

Lucifer tasted so damn good, sweet and crisp and heady. Belial had forgotten (or not let himself remember) how much he’d enjoyed the angel of light in his bed: his eagerness, his artlessness, the satisfaction of debauching him and getting the attention that Lucilius had envied. Angry like this, it was even better. Belial loved being the wrong choice you couldn’t help making.

Strong, graceful hands traveled down his chest almost tentatively for all the heat of their kisses. Lucifer touched the edges of his consciousness with a welter of emotions too complicated for even Belial to sort through: a glossy wonder that Belial was here with him, an edge of self-flagellation in accepting this, the affection and anger born of all their history…Lucifer explored him like he might disappear, like they hadn’t done this hundreds of times before.

A myriad of warring impulses beset him. Wrath, sadism, pride, lust. Belial wanted to hurt Lucifer, he wanted to ruin Lucifer for anyone else, he wanted Lucifer to remember every touch with guilt for how much he’d enjoyed it.

Ruthlessly, he pruned his thoughts, forcing everything to line up to provide him with the best option: be perfect, give Lucifer everything he needed and could never ask for, and make sure that Lucifer would compare everyone else to him and find them lacking. Belial always aimed to give his best performance regardless of the circumstances, and no matter how angry he was, this was going to hurt so much more than a few injuries in a dream.

He hummed into the other primal’s mouth then pulled back, leaving them both breathing heavily. Those pale, well-shaped lips were swollen, bruised and ripe and wet.

“Lucifer,” he purred, voice dark with arousal. Just the name, without the title or the distancing suffix. There wasn’t any need for that now, no need for the backhanded punishment when they knew just how many miles and years stood between them. White lashes fluttered, Lucifer meeting his gaze like he knew exactly what Belial was thinking, mouth soft and mournful. A kiss stole the sweetly satisfying expression from his lips, leaving the angel of light to sigh and reciprocate.

With a deftness born of long experience, Belial flicked open Lucifer’s belt without breaking the contact between their lips. He didn’t need to see to undress someone. Lucifer reciprocated by shoving his jacket off his shoulders and digging his fingers into the bared skin. Belial bit him hard, grabbed a fistful of his sleeveless shirt and ripped it. He dealt with the rest of their clothes with similar expediency, raking deep red welts into Lucifer’s skin while he was at it.

This either matched Lucifer’s tastes or his mood, as he refused to part from Belial’s kiss for more than shallow breaths. Which was just fine, Belial was good at doing all kinds of things with his mouth, and this was one he enjoyed a lot. He sucked on Lucifer’s tongue in lewd mimicry of the times he’d sucked his cock and Lucifer dug deeper bruises into the back of Belial’s neck. The angel of light pulled, nearly unbalancing Belial onto him once again. Belial growled and yanked on the fabric of the dreamspace, and then Lucifer was on his back, eyes wide. The shock didn’t last long before it was replaced by rapture because they were skin to skin.

The scent of crushed grass and night-blooming primrose nearly overpowered the smell of sex and arousal. Green stains marked his palms, streaked white skin. It contrasted with the artistic marks of teeth and nails Belial had left on that canvas. He smiled, all fangs, and mouthed ever so sweetly over the soft, vulnerable column of Lucifer’s throat. Lucifer shuddered under him, cutting his own red lines into Belial’s back.

“Yes,” Belial grated, viciously pleased to have finally cracked Lucifer’s control, glorying in the sting. He’d used to have fantasies of having Lucifer in the gardens, where any stupid archangel of instruction or wandering Astral could see them. The Supreme Primarch had been far too conscientious to allow it, but damn, this was a perfect intersection of everything he’d ever wanted from Lucifer in bed and never gotten.

“Belial, Belial, Belial-“ Twilight-hazed eyes, voice at the edge of ruin, bruising hands- Belial hooked an arm under that bare, sweat-dewed back, teased at where wings would be and pulled out a wail. Then Lucifer raked lightning across his nerves and Belial bit down on the join of his throat until he tasted blood.

The next eternity was the slide of power over power, first- and second-born primals entwining core to core in a way that made the dream pale and unreal. Oh, this Belial had missed, no mortal could ever compare- they were made for this, primals born of changeable ether, the first breath of creation.

Belial had just enough presence of mind to grab the sliding threads of his spell, force their coupling into less metaphorical reality- or what passed for it, in dreams. Chest to chest, Lucifer’s legs around his waist, arms over his back, breath shared, power shared, as deep in Lucifer as he could get-

Grinding merciless little circles against Lucifer’s sweet spot, hands braced to hold all of their combined weight, separation barely a memory as light hooked barbs into every corner of him like Lucifer couldn’t bear to let him further away than his own breath, like he wanted to merge their cores into a single existence. Even they couldn’t take this level of raw white-out sensation for very long- Belial brought Lucifer screaming and ripping a new set of bloody weals down the dark primal’s back, and then was dragged into orgasm a bare second after.

They sprawled, entwined and panting. Belial’s back was a salt-stinging canvas crossed with the marks of Lucifer’s nails, his shoulders aching with handprint bruises down to the bone, his mouth swollen and tender. The aftermath of hard sex hurt in the most satisfying way. Belial considered regret, then discarded the feeling. He’d only regretted sex a handful of times in his life.

Lashes fluttered against his throat where Lucifer hid his face. Graceful fingers petted the short hair on the back of his neck. The angel of light was a vulnerable thing in his arms- if Belial had spent a moment thinking about regret, Lucifer had probably already invited it in to make itself at home.

With that thought…Belial pulled his power back under his skin, walling himself back off. These days, it was as comfortable as his uniform had once been. Lucifer made a bereft noise, something small that stroked the dark, predatory urges that lurked in the shadows of his core.

 _No_ , Belial told himself firmly, and pushed himself up out of Lucifer’s embrace. He braced himself on one arm and took a long moment to look down at his handiwork, the debauched angel of light and life laid out on a blanket of green grass under the thin starlight. Belial had known him for the entirety of his life, had catalogued every curve and dip and plane of his Astral-forged body, but this was different. He wanted to commit it to memory.

“I love you,” Lucifer told him, eyes dark and broken. Belial had heard it from any number of lips, any number of people who had meant nothing to him. This should have been the same.

It wasn’t.

(Maybe he had fallen a little bit further than he’d thought. There was a certain irony that he could appreciate in being cut by this blade, the one he had wielded without care or concern so many times.)

“Too late to change things now, Lucifer.” He kept his voice even, though not easily.

“I know. But I think I’ve had enough of regretting the things that I did not say.”

“Heh.” This was a night for sentiment, it seemed. “Trying out selfishness at this late date? Careful, you might get a taste for it.”

“That,” Lucifer said, touching his face with a light and regretful hand, “I already had.”


End file.
